Stuff and Nonsense
by Chelsie Dagger
Summary: A random collection of my silly thoughts- This will include Stuff that may be decidedly OOC and Nonsense that is borderline crackfic. Could be a drabble or a poem or a fortune cookie, who knows what will happen? Certainly not me;) Mostly Chelsie but others too. Each chapter will be identified by series and/or episode to avoid SPOILERS FOR S4! 1st is S4E4. 2nd is post S4E3 Justice!
1. S4E04- A Gift With Words

**Series 4 Episode 4...A Gift With Words  
**

Mr. Carson contemplated the photo, but his fingers caressed the frame. He had noticed that Mrs. Hughes had moved with a …_bashful_…awkward shuffle when she'd handed him the tissue wrapped gift. She looked even more embarrassed when he commented on the obvious value of the frame. It had been uncouth of him to mention money, but he was taken off guard by the gesture and had let propriety slip.

Of course, who else did they have to spend their money on? He'd splurged on a Christmas gift for her on occasion, but this was for no occasion, only because she needed to finish the healing process that she had started. Her compassion about Alice had not surprised him, but her willingness, even eagerness to talk about it had. Why was she so interested in such personal matters? And how was it that she understood so completely?

He looked up from her gift to her face; from the Dove to the Dragon. But she was not a dragon to him. Just as he was not the heartless butler…

"Hold on, what do you mean I _once_ had a heart?" Her mischievous smile answered his mock indignation. "Is this how it works, you give me a thoughtful gift and you have free rein to insult me?"

"It's all part of the healing process, Mr. Carson. When you can laugh at yourself, I'll declare you healed."

"I see, _Dr_. Hughes." He raised the framed picture of Alice to her. "Is this the bandage then?"

"No. I suppose, if you _must_ belabor an analogy, it would be the scar; the memento of the wound."

"And of the healing." He reminded her. There were two parts to this gift; Alice's and hers; his past and his present.

"Of that too, yes." She acknowledged, contemplating her hands in her lap.

"Perhaps you 'jest at scars that never felt a wound.'"

"That may have been true for Romeo, but I don't think it is for you."

"In other words, I'm no Romeo?"

"You said it, not me." But her smile was a little sad. "I think you felt this wound. Very deeply. So the quote is not apt."

"No. But it's the only quote I could think of that mentions a scar."

She laughed lightly at this. Elsie was used to him hiding behind the words of others, especially Shakespeare. She supposed it was better than the alternative, which was silence, but only marginally so.

Now, the silence grew awkward between them. He was looking gently, lovingly at the photo while she sat waiting for him to speak. Why hadn't she thought to have tea ready? He had brought sherry the other evening. She decided she would offer tea; that would at least be something. But he spoke before she could offer.

"You've one upped me, Mrs. Hughes." He voice sounded dejected, but he was smiling.

"How so?"

"I was intending to give you something this evening, but it is not nearly so fine or thoughtful as this."

"Anything given with sincerity is thoughtful, Mr. Carson."

"You might want to withhold judgment until you've received it."

She scolded herself for her speculation of what 'IT' might be.

From his inside coat pocket Mr. Carson produced a small, square envelope. "I wanted to thank you... for your help with Grigg... and for listening to me moon over Alice."

She opened the envelope on which her full name was written and extracted... "A Valentine?"

"I know it is late…"

"Or perhaps it is just very early."

"No. It is definitely late." A tone of true regret did ring in his voice, but only fleetingly.

"As the saying goes, 'better late than never'." She assured him.

"I am glad you think so."

She smiled at the red tissue paper heart clumsily pasted onto the plain cream stationary. The corners of the card were decorated with ink squiggles, which she finally recognized as her initials, EMH. "Did you make this yourself?"

"I could hardly ask for help making it, no matter how sorely I needed it. But a valentine seemed appropriate since it was on St. Valentine's Day that you first met with Grigg. The shops did not have any left when I was last in the village." His ears were tinged red and he apologized. "It's rather pathetic, but I must ask you to remember what you just said about sincerity."

"It's lovely, Mr. Carson." She barely controlled her voice as she looked across the table at him. She continued to gaze at his gift to her.

"Are you afraid to open it? I know you doubt my poetic talents, but I promise it isn't terrible."

"I just hope it doesn't read 'We shout and scream and wail and cry, but in the end we must all die.'" She teased.

"I did consider that, but I didn't want something that rhymed. It made it seem trite." His smile was easy and genuine, as most of his interactions with her had been of late.

"So, in the end you decided on…" She opened the simple card. "'Thank you for your kindness and your friendship. I would be lost without either. C. Carson.'"

It was Mr. Carson's turn to look at his hands in embarrassment. The words sounded more personal than he had intended when she read them aloud. But they were true, so he had to accept them, however they might sound. Finally, Mrs. Hughes cleared her throat and managed to say, "Thank you, Mr. Carson, I'll admit, that is better than I was expecting; much better. But you aren't supposed to sign it."

He looked up, perplexed at this. "Why ever not?"

"The recipient is supposed to wonder who sent it, that's part of the fun."

"But who else would send you a valentine?" He sounded indignant, but his expression told her he was not entirely serious.

"In March? No one. I don't know anyone else that daft." Now that they were teasing again, she felt on surer ground.

"And in February?"

"That is my business to know." She smirked at him. "Speaking of businesses, you could have one writing verse for valentines."

"Do you think?"

"This is quite good and you are always offering some bit of wisdom that could be adapted to the occasion."

"For example?"

"'The business of life is the acquisition of memories. In the end that's all there is.'" She quoted.

"That could be part of the 'In the end we all must die' collection." He offered, chuckling lowly to himself.

"Practical verse, for practical people." She joined his laughter. "You could include, 'People drift in and out of your life, don't they?'"

"Or 'Human nature is a funny business.' I remember you liked that one." He reminded her.

Her side hurt from laughing now. "Or 'There's no need to be sentimental.'"

"I think that would make a lovely Valentine, to the right person." He chuckled defensively.

"Very romantic." She agreed. "Or 'What would be the point of living if we didn't let life alter us?'"

He was laughing harder now, but maintained his dignified composure. "Did I say that?"

"Something to that effect. A long time ago." Her mirth calmed a bit and she wiped a laughter-caused tear from her eye.

"You seem to remember every silly thing I've said."

"Only the _very_ silly things, Mr. Carson. But there are quite a few of those."

"You have a way with words yourself, Mrs. Hughes. I could hire you to work for me at the card company."

"What have I ever said that could be part of your warped valentine collection?"

"How about, 'We must all have our hearts broken once or twice before we're done.'?"

"Wise words."

"Or, 'A broken heart can be as painful as a broken limb.'?" She had relayed her conversation with Anna to him.

"True words, though I am sensing a theme. My contribution could be the 'Broken Hearts' collection."

"It could be a popular line, I would think broken hearts are at least as common as the unbroken variety. Probably more common." He teased. "And think how flattering it would be to receive a valentine that read, "Put this on your desk to show others that you are part of the human race.'"

"You are paraphrasing terribly now. And don't you pretend that hurt your feelings."

"So you are willing to admit that I have feelings?"

"You know what I meant by that. You need to show the staff another side of you. They don't know you the way I do."

"Nor do I wish for them to." The clock in the servants' hall chimed the quarter hour. Mr. Carson looked at this watch and then at her, apologetically. "I should be going. I'm expecting a wine shipment tomorrow and have some paperwork to prepare. Thank you for an entertaining evening, Mrs. Hughes. I can't think when I last laughed so much. And, if you are ambitious enough to start producing valentines cards, you are free to use anything I've ever said. I shall not accuse you of plagiarism."

"You are very kind."

With that, Mr. Carson exited the room in his smooth and deliberate way, shutting the door behind him. Elsie smiled at her gift of paper. The valentine was crudely but lovingly made and to her it was more valuable than any gift of silver. Finally, she sighed and rose to place the valentine on her desk. As she did, she noticed that he had left the framed photo behind. It was laying, face down on the table. _Silly man._ He wasn't usually so forgetful.

His knock sounded on her door and he peered in, tentatively.

"I'm sorry to disturb you again, Mrs. Hughes."

"But you forgot your picture." She picked it up and handed it to him.

"Did I? Oh, of course." He barely glanced at it as he accepted it.

"That's not why you came back?"

"No, well, yes, but no."

"Well, thank you, that's cleared that up."

"I was only going to ask…that is, I was wondering. Should you like to take a walk tomorrow?"

"A walk? I suppose so. The weather is turning very fine. But where would we walk?"

"Just… to the corner?" He raised his eyebrows, hoping she took his meaning.

She was still confused by this turn of conversation. "The corner of what?"

He beamed at her perplexed expression. "I'll leave that for you to decide. Any corner will do as far as I am concerned." And he left before she could answer.

Her confusion cleared when she remembered what he'd said earlier. _In those days you were lucky if you got to walk them to the corner._

Elsie blushed and smiled. _Any corner will do, indeed._

CE—

A few weeks and several walks to the corner later, they were in the garden when he surprised her again. "Dr. Hughes," he began; it had become his pet name for her. He couldn't bring himself to call her Elsie yet, but he liked calling her something besides Mrs. Hughes when it was only the two of them. "Your advice not to bury the past was well given and I am the better for following it. And your gift was very thoughtful, but the truth is, it is such a fine and modern frame, it deserves a modern photo. I've several other frames that will do for Alice's photo."

"What do you mean, Mr. Carson?" Did she dare call him Charles yet?

He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. _This was a bad idea._ But he was already in too deep to back out now. "When you are next in Ripon, would you consider having a portrait taken for me?"

She tried to hide her shock and subsequent smugness. "We see each other every day, Mr. Carson. Why ever would you need a photo of me?"

"For the days when you are angry with me. It would be nice to be assured of seeing your smile."

This made her laugh. "Then don't make me angry with you."

"Sound advice, but I don't seem to have yet mastered that skill. Nor am I likely to."

"But would it be appropriate for you to have my picture on your desk?"

"Well, it would hardly be appropriate to keep it in my room."

"I should think not!"

"Well? Would you? I think it is an important step towards my full recovery, Dr. Hughes."

"When you put it that way…I suppose I could, Mr. Carson. I must say, you are healing much faster than even I could have hoped."

"I have an excellent physician. That can make all the difference."

The scent of early spring flowers filled the air as they turned back towards the house. As they walked underneath a topiary archway, he took her hand and pulled her to a stop.

"I've been thinking about our valentine business."

"Have you? And what have you been thinking?"

"I believe we were _over _thinking it. Simplicity and sincerity is best." He turned her gently to face him fully.

She somehow found the breath to answer, "Is it?"

"There is only one message that can ever matter…" She couldn't speak now. He was so close to her under the canopy of green. He still held her hand and smiled down upon her. "I love you."

She looked up at him, her smile scaling the heights to reach him, so far above her. "And I love you."

After that day they would continue to share words of joy and anger and fear and hope, but they always ended every day with three simple words; the only three words that could ever matter between two people.

-THE END-

**A/N This was a bit of a Frankenstein story, combining several ideas that struck me from 4.4. ****I am still 'technically' on hiatus but I can't stay away. ****This was my attempt at drabble, but ended up much longer (and sappier) than I intended. I simply cannot control these two.  
**

**Please review if you have the time.  
**


	2. S4PostE3- Who Dunnit

**Thank you for the reviews...and now for something completely different...**

**Series 4- After Episode 3**

"Well, Inspector, what do you think?"

"This is an odd case, Berkley. Our two main suspects are the only people with ironclad alibis."

"Yes. The lads from Ripon report that Mr. and Mrs. Bates were there the past two days. They were seen dining out on the evening of the murder and then attending the theatre until late. There is no way either of them could have come back to Downton to do this."

"Of course, anyone who was her friend would want to kill the scoundrel who raped her, but no one is talking."

"Nor are they likely to, Inspector. It seems pretty clear they all wanted this fellow dead."

"I'll give them this, Berkley, the staff of these great houses are certainly thorough."

"Yes, sir. We haven't found a speck of blood anywhere inside the house or on the roof. The only actual evidence is the body itself."

"That is not what I meant, Berkley. I meant they certainly were going to make sure he was dead."

"Well, he's definitely that. According to our investigation and the report from the morgue, he was... stabbed, beaten, shot, hung, poisoned..._at least twice_, drowned _in tea_, thrown from the roof, trampled by a horse and... run over by a car."

"And we can't even know the order in which it happened. But I think we may safely assume that he was thrown from the roof before he was run over by the car or the horse."

"Yes, sir, and there is still the matter of the missing foot."

"I assume the dog had something to do with that. They found his boot in her kennel. Anything more about the tractor?"

"It seems unrelated. Someone must have been out joyriding and run out of gas on the front lawn."

"So, we are looking at a man who was killed 10 times, by who knows how many people. Since we can't tell what actually killed him, the best we can hope for is 10 counts of attempted murder. But who do we even charge with that?"

"As I see it, Inspector, this is not so much a case of who did it as it is a case of who _didn't _do it."

"Thank you, Berkley, for that insight. Without any real evidence, we'll have no case at all unless we can get someone to confess."

"That does not seem likely. They've circled the wagons, as it were. What do you want to do, sir?"

"Do? As far as I am concerned, there is nothing we can do. I don't plan to waste any of my time trying to unravel this mess. There is one less rapist in His Majesty's realm and I think we should leave it at that. Though there is one thing, Berkley."

"What is that, sir?"

"I'd like to shake the hand of the person who drowned him with the tea. That was most ingenious. I'd love to know how they managed it."

-00-

"I'd like to inform everyone that the police have gone. The investigation is closed and the death has been ruled an accident. Apparently, Mr. Green fell from the roof."

"What do we do now, Mr. Carson?"

"We carry on, Daisy. Now, Anna and Mr. Bates will be back before the gong and we'll have no more talk of this unsavory matter this evening.

"And I don't want you lot looking so smug. A little professionalism, please."

"Yes, Mr. Carson."

THE END

* * *

**A/N Ahhh, that was some cathartic crackfic… Speaking of crack, your reviews are just as addictive to me, please review if you've time. Any prompts or ideas are welcome. This is my mental playground.  
**

**In case you are wondering, it was (in this particular order) …**

**Mrs. Patmore, in the servants' hall with cyanide in his pudding;**

**Ivy, in the servants' hall with arsenic in his whiskey flask;**

**Mr. Carson, on the stairs with a letter knife;**

**Thomas, in the men's hall with his fists;**

**Daisy, in the men's hall with a turkey baster full of hot tea; **

**James, on the roof with the flag halyard;**

**Alfred, on the roof with a revolver;**

**Mr. Branson, ****_from_**** the roof with the ground;**

**Mrs. Hughes, on the drive with the car with Lady Violet in the back;**

**Lady Mary, on the drive with Buttercup;**

**and Isis, on the drive with her teeth.**

**All the staff helped transport him from place to place and cleaned up all the evidence. Lady Edith wanted to run him over with a tractor, but she ran out of gas on the lawn. Only Robert, Cora and Lord Gillingham were clueless... **

**...Except for Anna and Bates, who had a lovely time in Ripon;)**


	3. Post S4- What Do You Mean, 'No?

**A response to a challenge from LC…the prompt is at the end, I don't want to spoil anything.**

**Thank you for the challenge. It was quite a long prompt and it is quite a long story. I hope you enjoy the result.**

* * *

**SUNDAY**

"I have been considering, Mrs. Hughes." He said, over sherry one evening.

"Considering, Mr. Carson?"

"Now that Lady Mary is remarrying and will be leaving Downton, I think I should do the same."

"You'll be remarrying, Mr. Carson? Congratulations." Mrs. Hughes thought she had covered her shock rather well. What was he thinking, just announcing his retirement out of the blue like this? And right in the middle of the planning for Lady Mary's nuptials.

"Not _re_marrying, of course, but I've an idea to marry."

"Indeed, Mr. Carson?"

"Indeed, Mrs. Hughes. I've an idea that _we_ should marry."

Elsie nearly choked on her small sip of sherry. "That certainly is an idea, Mr. Carson."

"Then shall I go into Ripon for the license next week?"

"Considering I have not even answered you, that is a bit sudden. What is your rush?"

"No rush, but I feel that once we've reached an understanding, we should act quickly. I'd like to avoid any appearance of impropriety."

The numbness in her brain was passing now and her sense of indignation was awakening. "Apparently, you'd also like to avoid any appearance of affection."

"To an outside observer, affection and impropriety are one and the same."

"My, what a poet you are, Mr. Carson." He could not say which was thicker, her sarcasm or her accent.

Mr. Carson was confused. He had assumed that this was what she wanted. As far as he was concerned, they'd had an unspoken understanding for years. Had he been mistaken? "Shall I go then? To Ripon? Have we an understanding?"

_The gall!_ "Do you not think your offer premature? _We_ haven't anything, Mr. Carson. We've never shared any hint of romantic feelings. We've never kissed or embraced. You've never given me flowers or read me poetry or sent me love letters."

"But I have written to you."

"Yes, about house business and what grand fun you were having in London _without me_." She pointed out. "We've never even danced. At the servant's ball, to warrant a dance with the butler requires that you are a titled Lady or a Crawley or, preferably, both."

"But those are just the trappings of love. My proposal may seem hasty but I assure you it is not. I've cared for you for many years, but, if I had ever spoken of my feelings before now, you might have left, or asked that I leave with you."

"And would you have?" She demanded, just as she realized that she did not want to know. "Nevermind. Love does not sit back and wait for the logical moment to declare itself; it is impetuous. I believe love should be romantic and passionate."

"We see each other every day. We share every meal. We share every problem. We have no secrets from one another. What is more romantic than that?" Carson argued earnestly.

"We also fight a good deal."

"Which only proves there is a passion between us. In truth, Mrs. Hughes, we have been living as a married couple in almost every way for over twenty years."

"But not quite in every way." Though she blushed to say it.

"But our dispositions are so similar and our goals so perfectly aligned, surely we must…"

"I am not prepared to logically dissect the reasons why we _must_ be in love, Mr. Carson. Love does not work that way." Her voice was raised, but in control.

"I've observed that it does not work your way either, more often than not." He could not help sounding testy. He was honestly baffled that she had not accepted him immediately.

"I am sorry, Mr. Carson. My answer is 'No'; I cannot marry you." She declared, but seemed to think better of it. "Not like this. If you wish to woo me, then you may, but I deserve that courtesy at least."

She did not await his reply, but bolted from his pantry. Charles sighed greatly. Perhaps he had been too abrupt, but he was keen to move on to the next phase of his life with Elsie Hughes. Lord knows they'd waited long enough.

Perhaps he had been overconfident. Carson was reminded of the time over a year ago when he had offered Mr. Molesley the footman's position and had been rebuffed. He had been so sure of the answer and had been shocked by the initial refusal. Well, that situation had resolved itself favorably. Not that Mrs. Hughes was in such desperate straits as Mr. Molesley had been. She was no beggar, but Mr. Carson was as assured of Mrs. Hughes' affection as he had been of Mr. Molesley's desperation. He was confident this situation would come right in the end.

**MONDAY**

There were flowers on her desk. Why were there flowers on her desk? Surely, Charles hadn't decided to woo her?

Mr. Carson stuck his head into her sitting room. "Her Ladyship wanted you to see what she was considering for Lady Mary's wedding breakfast. Mr. Dennis says all these should still be in bloom in two weeks."

Of course, it was just a household matter. _What were you thinking, you foolish lass? _

"And here…is the bouquet." He handed it to her with a grand flourish, producing it from behind his back. Despite herself, Elsie felt a rush of color flood her cheeks. She turned away quickly, but Charles had seen.

_There's hope,_ he smiled to himself.

**TUESDAY**

Elsie was at her wits' end. He had spoken no more on the matter since Sunday. He certainly showed no signs of wooing her. Mrs. Hughes was beginning to regret her refusal. But her anger still burned when she thought of the smug and matter of fact way he had assumed…

And what had he assumed but the truth? She would be happy to retire with him and marry him. She loved him. It was undeniable. But to have it thrown in her face like that? To have it discussed as though he were talking about ordering another serving platter to replace one that Daisy had dropped?

Her fuming was interrupted by a knock on her door.

"Mrs. Hughes, I shall be taking my half day on Thursday. You know that I cannot trust Barrow with the cellar key. If I left the appropriate notes in the wine ledger, could you collect the bottles for him once his lordship has made the selections?"

"Of course, Mr. Carson, but, Mr. Barrow will have the key to the cellar someday, so you should prepare yourself for that eventuality."

"But I shall not have to live to see it."

"Oh, no?"

"Since I plan never to retire."

"But I thought…"

"Why would I ever retire? I shall die in harness, as it were."

"But the other evening, you said…"

"That was when I thought there was a better option. Good night, Mrs. Hughes."

"Good night, Mr. Carson."

_He's given up on me then. Well, if he wants to pretend nothing was ever said, two can play that game._

**WEDNESDAY**

"Mrs. Hughes, I require your assistance." His voice called to her from his pantry.

_Just keep walking, Elsie. That will teach him that you are not a girl to answer his every call._ "Yes, Mr. Carson?"

"I am writing a card to Lady Mary for her wedding and I cannot decide upon the proper verse. I would welcome your opinion."

"If it will not take long. I've a meeting with Her Ladyship in an half hour."

"The poems are brief, it should not take long."

"Very well."

"I'm looking for something that conveys the idea of a second chance at happiness, to commemorate her second marriage. I am afraid the pickings are quite slim. Most of what I've found has a decidedly depressing tone."

"Which might not be inappropriate, given the circumstances, Mr. Carson. All the great romances of the age have been tragedies, or so we've been told."

"Well said. There's always Shakespeare, but I wanted something less well known… the 73rd Sonnet might do."

"I do not believe I am familiar with that one."

_"That time of year thou mayst in me behold  
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang  
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,  
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.  
In me thou seest the twilight of such day  
As after sunset fadeth in the west,  
Which by and by black night doth take away,  
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.  
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire  
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,  
As the death-bed whereon it must expire  
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.  
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,  
To love that well which thou must leave ere long."_

_God, that voice._ How was she expected to judge a poem read in that voice? He could be reading the produce order and it would sound like poetry to her. Somehow, she offered, "You might want to avoid the mention of death."

"Good point, though it is hard to avoid in poetry. What about some Robert Frost?"

"An American?"

"It's not really right for Lady Mary, but there was a funny one in here..." He flipped through one of the the books of poetry strewn across his desk. "Here it is...

_Some say the world will end in fire,_  
_Some say in ice._  
_From what I've tasted of desire_  
_I hold with those who favor fire._  
_But if it had to perish twice,_  
_I think I know enough of hate_  
_To say that for destruction ice_  
_Is also great_  
_And would suffice."_

Mrs. Hughes laughed at that one. "Leave it to an American to make the end of the world into a joke."

For the next half hour, he read to her, sad poems, silly poems, short poems and long poems. Always, his voice seemed to wrap the words in trembling shrouds of music. She heard his voice, not with her ears, but with her heart.

"_I sought among the drifting leaves,_  
_The golden leaves that once were green,_  
_To see if Love were hiding there_  
_And peeping out between._

_For thro' the silver showers of May_  
_And thro' the summer's heavy heat,_  
_In vain I sought his golden head_  
_And light, fast-flying feet._

_Perhaps when all the world is bare_  
_And cruel winter holds the land,_  
_The Love that finds no place to hide_  
_Will run and catch my hand._

_I shall not care to have him then,_  
_I shall be bitter and a-cold -_  
_It grows too late for frolicking_  
_When all the world is old._

_Then little hiding Love, come forth,_  
_Come forth before the autumn goes,_  
_And let us seek thro' ruined paths_  
_The garden's last red rose._

"Well?"

Elsie shook herself back into awareness. His voice was hypnotic even when discussing the weather. But, speaking those words, his voice had transported her. If only he had been reciting to her in earnest.

"That's quite an image, the last red rose of autumn. Who wrote that?"

"Sara Teasdale?"

"A woman no less!"

"An American woman."

"Stranger things have happened, Mr. Carson. Oh, dear! Look at the time. I really must go. I am afraid that I can be no help. You know Lady Mary best. You can't possibly go wrong with whatever you choose."

She managed to stumble out into the hall, her head still light from being held in thrall by his voice.

"There you are, Mrs. Hughes!" Her Ladyship said. "I was sure we'd said two fifteen."

"I am sorry to have kept you, My Lady. Mr. Carson…"

"Don't let him over work you, Mrs. Hughes. Mrs. Patmore is bringing us some tea. Now, shall we discuss the flowers?"

"The arrangements seemed very satisfactory to me, My Lady."

"What arrangements are those?"

"These, My Lady." Elsie indicated the still blooming flowers. She'd placed the bouquet in a vase to match the others.

"Oh! They _are_ beautiful. Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking of."

Elsie was confused. Had Lady Grantham forgotten that she'd sent these to Elsie? There was certainly enough for her to be concerned about lately, it would be understandable. "Mr. Dennis assures us that these will all be available for the day."

"Excellent, Mrs. Hughes. Now, let's discuss the menu…"

**THURSDAY**

"Everything you need is noted in the ledger. I really do appreciate your doing this, Mrs. Hughes. His Lordship would not give me the selections any earlier and I simply must leave immediately after tea."

"Of course, Mr. Carson." She answered dejectedly. Mr. Carson had apparently forgotten or buried their discussion from Sunday night. He had as much as told her that he loved her and she had rejected him. That was the end of it as far as he was concerned. It would now fall to her to humiliate herself if the two of them were to be happy. She hated the fact that she would have to do it. She hated him for making her do it. She hated herself more that she was willing to do it.

"The lighting is very poor, so I suggest you bring a lamp." He called over his shoulder as he left her sitting at her desk with his wine ledger before her.

A few hours later, Mrs. Hughes took up a small hand lamp and his wine ledger and descended the cold stone steps to the wine cellar. If there was any place in Downton that personified the butler, it was this cellar; buried deep, cold and silent but containing items of immeasurable value and complexity that few could truly understand.

Elsie thought she understood him, as a sommelier understood the nuances of wine. She knew his dry humor and his dark oaky moods and his occasional sparkling moments, appreciating them all in their own way. But now, he was closed to her, tasteless and bitter, though nothing on the surface had changed.

She opened the door and flipped the switch for the lone, inadequate bulb that hung just inside the doorway. The air was musky and dank and cool. Elsie shivered slightly as she opened the wine ledger. A note was inserted into the ledger with a map of the cellar's maze of wine racks. On the map, that evenings' wines were noted with little stars. They all seemed to be located in the same corner, the furthest corner from the door and from the light.

"Of course it would be the furthest corner." She groused to no one. She was grateful that he'd reminded her to bring the hand lamp as she began to navigate the rows. There was no rhyme or reason down here. When they needed more racks, they'd added more, fitting them in wherever they could. Mr. Carson wanted to rearrange the cellar, but that would require disturbing certain wines that should not be disturbed.

She met at least one dead end, but eventually, Elsie rounded a corner, knowing she was very close. It took her a moment to register that something was wrong. There was light coming from in front of her. _But the door is behind me, I'm almost sure of it._ Tentatively, Elsie rounded the last corner. Before her was a table with two tiny chairs and just enough surface to hold two small place settings, a small candelabra, two glasses and a bottle of wine.

"Hello?" She called into the mostly dark cellar. "Mr. Carson?"

When no answer came, she approached the table and looked down at it curiously. 'Please have a seat,' read a small, folded note on the table. The writing matched that found in the ledger she still held. Elsie sat in front of one of the place setting's which bore her name. She stored her lamp in a small niche in the wall which held it perfectly.

Looking carefully at the table, she realized that what she had taken for a place card was, indeed, an envelope bearing her name. Elsie Hughes opened the letter and began to read.

"My dearest Love, you were right to be angry with my arrogant and indifferent proposal. There are certain things in this life that I take for granted; that the sun will rise, that the spring will come and that I shall always love you. Since I can keep nothing from you, I honestly believed that you knew of my love. It was a presumptuous error of judgment on my part. Your giving nature and my arrogant confidence led me to hope that you loved me in return. I find that I cannot relinquish that hope, even in light of your refusal.

I am a pragmatic man and you are a practical woman. But I neglected to acknowledge that you are a woman, first and foremost, and you are deserving of every romantic gesture and testament of love that a man can offer a woman. I have many years for which to atone, but I will dedicate the rest of my days to doing so if you will but give me the opportunity.

As you can tell by this sad attempt at a love letter, I have much to learn about romance. You will find me your devoted and ardent student,

C. Carson."

Elsie was rereading the letter a third time, through watery eyes as she became aware of the music. It sounded far off. He must have placed the Gramophone at the top of the stairs. She heard his shoes scuffle as they left the bottom stone step and crossed the silent dirt floor. Her breath was in her throat as she waited for his arrival.

He rounded the corner and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. He was wearing his plain brown suit; the one she always teased him about, saying she liked this scruffy Charles Carson better than the stuffy white tied butler. He was humbling himself for her. Only Charles Carson could make himself more elegant by dressing down.

Before she could register these thoughts, he was offering her his hand. "Miss Hughes, would you do me the honor of this dance?"

She gawped up at him, shaking her head in disbelief. Elsie was half aware that her jaw had dropped, but she could not close her mouth try as she might. It was like a gear had slipped in her brain; the wheels were spinning, but they had no traction. He waited patiently, his hand held out before her. Finally, she was able to place her hand in his. His gentle pressure pulled her to her feet and then they were waltzing. Elsie absently followed his effortless lead. Eventually, she regained enough composure to close her slack jaw and smile up at him.

Seeing that her initial shock was coming to an end, Charles ventured to speak. "I am sorry that I have not expressed myself more fully before, my love, but, to me, every day working beside you has been a dance nearly as lovely as this."

"Nothing could be as lovely as this, Charles. Where have you been?"

He didn't have to ask her what she meant. "I've been hiding in plain sight, where I thought you were the only one who could see me. I suppose I hid too well."

"But I did see you. When I first arrived, I thought there was something, but you never said anything and nothing ever came of it, so I thought I must have imagined it."

"I should have said something, but I was so afraid of destroying what we had. You never spoke of it either."

"But I tried to show you. I tried to look after you, to care for you when you would let me."

"And I did believe that you loved me. My folly was to believe that you were as sure of my love."

The song ended. Shortly, a new song came drifting down the stone steps. Elsie looked at him questioningly.

"Anna." He said simply. This song was not a waltz, but a slow, crooning ballad. He drew her closer to him, closing the space between them. They swayed easily to the music in a slow box step. Elsie closed her eyes and leaned her cheek against the rough wool of his suit jacket. She felt his head bend to hers as he rested his cheek in her hair.

An hour later, or a few minutes later, the final strains of music died reluctantly away, as though they were as sorry to leave as Elsie was for them to go. The end of the music meant leaving his arms.

Something tickled the back of her mind. She was forgetting something. As Charles led her back to the tiny table, she remembered. "Charles, I have to get back upstairs, they'll be serving soon and they don't have the wine."

He smiled at her almost patronizingly. She realized the truth. "You have already pulled and decanted the wine for tonight, haven't you?"

"Of course. And, if you look at the rota, the housekeeper has her half day today. Some sort of misunderstanding must have happened for the butler and the housekeeper to be off at the same time, but there it is." He smiled proudly at how smoothly he had orchestrated everything. "Now, please wait as I fetch the first course."

Before she could protest, he was gone. He was not seriously going to run up and down those stairs between every course. But she smiled again as he returned almost immediately with two bowls of stew with a slice of coarsely cut bread balanced on the rim of each.

"I couldn't trust Mrs. Patmore to keep a secret, so we are having a very simple meal tonight."

"Simple is good. Simple is perfect."

They ate in relative silence, smiling their love across the table to one another. Charles felt like he was seeing her for the first time. In the soft candlelight and the low flame of the lamp, he could stare at her openly and lovingly without fear of discovery. Elsie saw his adoration and wondered how she had ever not seen it.

Finally, the stew was gone and the last of the wine was poured out.

"There is something else of interest in this cellar, my love." How he loved to call her that after all these years! "I should like to show you the most prized bottle in the cellar."

He took the lamp from the niche and bade her follow him. When they stopped, Elsie thought she recognized the dead end from when she had first arrived.

"Here." He raised the lamp and pointed to a dusty bottle that Elsie took to be Champagne due to the shape of the bottle. It was covered completely in dust. As with many of the older wines, Elsie saw there was a paper label attached to the rack just to the right of where the bottleneck rested on the rack. Even this note was too dusty to read.

"This is an 1874 Perrier-Jouet. His Lordship ordered a case when he married Lady Grantham. A bottle of this has marked the marriage and birth of every Crawley since then. This is the last. I am not sure what it is worth, exactly, but let's just say it's several years pay for either of us."

"So the last bottle is to be opened for Lady Mary? Poor Lady Edith."

"And poor Lady Mary, for that matter. This bottle was given to me by Lord Grantham when I became butler." Charles took his handkerchief and wiped the dust from the paper label.

It read, "Perrier-Jouet 1874- For the wedding of Mr. Charles Edward Carson, butler of Downton Abbey to Miss Elsie Margaret Hughes, housekeeper of Downton Abbey."

"When did you write that label?"

"Just before I left for London, your first year at Downton."

"I was not housekeeper yet."

"But I saw the future, our future as clear and sure as I see you today."

"And what would have happened to this if I had married Joe Burns?"

He looked stung by the memory, even though it was years past and she had said 'No'. She took his hand and stroked her thumb across the back of it. "You would have received a fine bottle of Champagne from the staff of Downton Abbey. And sincere best wishes from the broken hearted butler."

"You know I never really considered his offer."

"I'm just thankful that you didn't tell me about it until you'd turned him down. I doubt I could have functioned waiting to learn your answer."

"Even then, I loved you." Elsie said, wrapping her arms around him possessively. He returned her embrace exuberantly. Finally, he stroked her back and pulled away.

"There is one more surprise."

"Careful, Charles, if you try to fit the romance of 25 years into 24 hours, we may both burn up and end as piles of ash."

"Would that be so bad? They could mix us together and a phoenix could rise from the ashes."

"I'm not sure that's how the myth goes."

"It doesn't rise from the ashes of true love?"

"No, it doesn't."

"But it should." He said with mock seriousness.

"Yes, it should." She laughed.

"Well, I don't think we are risking combustion just yet." From yet another wine rack, Charles extracted a single red rose. "It's only a flower."

"Like in the poem." She smiled.

"But I don't want you to think of this as the garden's last red rose, but as the first red rose of many. Elsie Hughes, will you marry me?"

"Of course, I will, you daft man. All you had to do was ask." Teasingly, she traced the petals of the rose across his lips.

Laughing, he drew her into his arms and kissed her soundly.

THE END-

**Here is the original prompt from LC…**

**'Please, for our next reading pleasure, write how Carson explains how he can ask Mrs Hughes to retire/ marry / want her (any way she will stay with him for the rest of his life) having never sent her a love, letter, flowers, read her poetry (with that beautiful voice), hugged, kissed or DANCED! with her and still get her to go with him. But he has to do all of these things to get her.  
Please include his wine ledger as part of the story.'**

**I'd love to hear your comments and take any other suggestions for stories or snippets. Still working on that fortune cookie…**


	4. NYDay 2014- Fortune Cookies

**Absolute silliness... To celebrate New Year's Day, my family usually orders Chinese Carry Out [Mama don't cook with a hangover]. Here are some of the fortune cookies some of our Downton characters might have received, roughly mid Season 3. NO SPOILERS.  
**

* * *

Lady Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham: Always keep your words soft and sweet, just in case you have to eat them.

Lord Grantham: A fool and his money are soon reunited.

Lady Grantham: Rivers need springs.

Lady Mary Crawley: Do not be covered in sadness or be fooled in happiness they both must exist.

Matthew Crawley: Enjoyed the meal? Buy one to go too.

Mrs. Isobel Crawley: A merry heart does good like a medicine.

Lady Edith Crawley: You only need look to your own reflection for inspiration. Because you are Beautiful!

Lady Sybil Crawley: Every exit is an entrance to new experiences.

Mr. Tom Branson: A new business venture is on the horizon.

Mr. Carson: Someone who deserves special attention awaits your magic voice.

Mrs. Hughes: We can't help everyone. But everyone can help someone.

Mrs. Patmore: You will have an MSG headache.

Daisy Robinson-Mason: For success today look first to yourself.

Thomas Barrow: He who throws dirt is loosing ground.

Ivy: No one likes you.

Doctor Clarkson: Pick another cookie.

James Kent: Someone has Googled you recently. [I think it was Thomas]

Joseph Molesley: Life is a Mountain, not a beach.

* * *

**A/N Most of these are actual fortunes, or paraphrases of actual fortunes. I've used fortunecookiemessage DOT com and "Funny Fortune Cookie Sayings" from SayingsPlus DOT com. and Bing images of fortune cookie sayings.**

**If you want to follow the tradition of ending every fortune with 'in bed.' I'll leave that to you.**

**I didn't think our neighbors would have any fireworks left after celebrating New Year's in every timezone since New York...I was wrong:)**

**I hope 2014 brings joy, prosperity and Chelsie to you and yours;)**


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